The Philosopher's Stone
by Arbor Mist
Summary: In which Merlin meets snobby Arthur Pendragon on the train to Camelot University of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hates him on sight, then proceeds to save him from a troll in the dungeons, various magical assassins, an enormous bloody snake, an evil dark lord and a matchmaking dragon, and ends up becoming best friends (and maybe more) with the most annoying prat to have ever lived.
1. Chapter 1

**The Philosopher's Stone**

**Part 1 of the _Camelot University of Witchcraft and Wizardry _****series**

**Summary: **In which Merlin meets snooty pureblood Arthur Pendragon on the train to Camelot University of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hates him on sight, then proceeds to save him from a troll in the dungeons, numerous magical assassins, an enormous bloody snake, a haunted diary (_really_ now), a rampaging hippogriff, an evil dark lord and a matchmaking dragon, and ends up becoming best friends (and maybe more) with the most _annoying _prat to have ever lived. (Harry Potter crossover)

**Pairing: **Eventual Merlin/Arthur

**Disclaimer:** This work is not for profit and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"_Wow_," Merlin breathed, looking around with wide eyes.

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was like nothing he had ever seen. A scarlet steam train was waiting patiently at the platform, billowing puffy clouds of smoke at constant intervals. A sign hanging from the high arched ceiling proclaimed "_Camelot University Express_, 12 o'clock". All around him, the station was jam-packed with people rushing to and fro, pushing trolleys stacked to overflowing with luggage, or being chased by enchanted trunks that scampered after their owners on tiny clawed feet. The babble of overlapping conversation mingled with the disgruntled screeching and flapping of caged owls, the _miaowing _of cats winding their way between the legs of the crowd, and even, Merlin could have sworn, a feline-looking…_creature _that was rather too large to be a cat and rather too small to be a lion, and which seemed to have _wings_.

Merlin was aware that he was staring around open-mouthed, and had been for more than a while, before he felt a gentle pressure on his elbow.

"Merlin, we have to move, we're blocking the entrance!" Hunith said, tugging him away from the barrier between platforms nine and ten. As if on cue, the barrier shimmered, and a blond-haired young man in an expensive-looking suit strode through, just barely missing a collision with Merlin. Ignoring Merlin's yell of "Sorry!", he pushed past Merlin and Hunith and disappeared into the crowd.

"Erm, right, Mum," Merlin said apologetically, following Hunith into a less crowded area of the station.

Hunith turned and gripped Merlin tightly by his shoulders. "Oh, Merlin. Be _careful_." To Merlin's horror, tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I will! I will, Mum, don't cry!" Merlin reassured quickly, panicky. "I'll – I'll email you every week, and Skype, and it'll be Christmas break soon and I'll be back before you know it, yeah? And it's _uni_, it's not as if I'll be going off to do anything really dangerous, like fight in a war or something! I'll be perfectly sa–"

Hunith pulled him into a hug, cutting him off. This time, she was smiling. "You're a good son, Merlin. You have a great destiny. I know it."

"I'll miss you, Mum," Merlin whispered hoarsely.

"You'll be fine," Hunith said, smiling. She reached up to caress his cheek tenderly. "Take care of yourself, and your friends."

"I will," Merlin promised.

"I have to run now," Hunith glanced at her watch. "My shift starts in half an hour."

"I know, Mum," Merlin said. Somehow, a lump had risen in his throat. It suddenly struck him that the next few months would be the longest that his mother had ever spent all alone since he was born, with no one else in the house. Merlin hugged her again, fiercely, missing her already. "You take care too. I love you, Mum."

"I love you too, Merlin. Always," Hunith said tenderly.

And with one last embrace, a peck on the cheek and a parting wave, she disappeared through the barrier back into the Muggle world.

"Well," Merlin said to himself, looking around the station again and feeling a great leap of excitement in his chest, "this should be _fun_."

* * *

Merlin changed his mind not five minutes later, when he was struggling to shove his heavy trunk through the train doors while simultaneously being jostled on all sides by impatient students and trod on by various small animals. Twice, he dropped his trunk painfully on his toes.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" a posh voice drawled from behind.

Merlin's luggage levitated itself into the train compartment.

"Thank _god_," Merlin panted, turning to face his benefactor. It was the blonde boy who had almost collided into him earlier at the barrier platforms nine and ten. Up close, Merlin could see that he was tall, broad-shouldered and almost annoyingly attractive. His suit was expensively tailored and he looked the very picture of old money. Next to him, Merlin felt pitifully underdressed, even though his jeans-and-shirt ensemble was exactly what the overwhelming majority of the students were wearing.

"First year, too?" the blonde asked.

"Yeah, thanks," Merlin gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "I mean, yeah, I'm in first year too. Thanks for helping me. With the –" he waved vaguely at the direction of the train compartment. "– trunk and…stuff. Sorry I knocked you over just now, I mean, sorry for almost knocking you over just now, you know, at the entrance, I don't think you heard me earlier when I apologised…okay, I'll stop babbling now. Sorry. I mean, thanks. I mean, yes. It's my first year."

The blonde stared at him. Merlin could practically see the words "_he's an idiot_" forming in his head.

Merlin blushed. Temporarily at a loss for words, he cast around desperately for another topic of conversation that wouldn't make him sound like a complete fool. There was an awkward silence, thankfully broken by the boy, who asked, "So where are your parents?"

Hugely relieved, Merlin replied, "My mum left a while ago, she has a shift at St Bart's Hospital at twelve. My dad, er, isn't around."

"Oh, so you aren't pureblooded," the boy said dismissively. Merlin gaped at him, feeling slightly affronted. He had no idea what being "_not pureblooded" _meant, really, but the boy's snobbish tone and Merlin's inference that his parentage was somehow being disparaged was enough to irritate him. But before Merlin could protest, the boy had carried on speaking. "My father's arranging for my trunks to be sent directly to Camelot. I think I'll pester him to get me my racing broom too. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I'm going to bully Father into smuggling mine in somehow."

Merlin's opinion of his so-called saviour was dropping lower and lower every minute.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," Merlin replied.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Merlin said again, wondering what Quidditch was.

"_I _do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," Merlin said through gritted teeth, feeling more and more like an idiot. He desperately tried to think of a way to bow out gracefully from the conversation, but the boy wasn't to be stopped.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, but I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin, like my father. I'm going to _order_ the Hat to put me there. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmmm," Merlin said. "Look, really, thanks and all, but I think I have to go, the train's leaving soon and I need to, um, sort through my trunk and see if there's anything I've forgotten –"

"So what's your name, then?" the blonde asked, cutting through Merlin's babbling.

"Merlin Emrys," Merlin sighed, giving up all hopes of escape.

"_Merlin?_" the boy snorted.

"Well, at least it's not Gandalf!" Merlin shot back, fired up. "I _was _going to be called Colin, but then my mum found out I had magic, and – _ahh_!"

A girl collided into him, scattering all her books onto the platform.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" she cried, wringing her hands. She was dark-skinned, with curly black hair and pretty dark eyes. She also looked completely frazzled.

"It's all right," Merlin assured her, bending over to help pick up her books. Any excuse to stop talking to Annoying Blonde Arse was heaven-sent. "Here you go, take this…and this one, too…" He passed her a slightly crumpled copy of _Transfiguration for Beginners _and _The Theory and Practice of Combat Magic._

"Here," said an unfamiliar, smooth voice. Merlin and the girl looked up. It was a tall young man. He was very good-looking: his dark hair fell into his eyes with the sort of casual elegance that Merlin's could never have achieved, and he gave the girl a charming smile and a roguish wink. In his hand was _Fifty Shades of Grey_.

The girl turned bright red.

"Oh my god!" she squeaked. "That's not what it looks like! I mean, it _is _the _Fifty Shades _book, but I'm not actually _interested _in it, it's just a joke gift from my friends, I'm not actually into, you know, all that stuff and erm. Things."She was completely flustered.

The dark-haired man looked intrigued. Merlin began to laugh.

"I'm Merlin Emrys," Merlin introduced himself, taking pity on her embarrassment. He decided that he liked her already.

"Gwen. Gwen Smith." Gwen smiled at them. She had cute dimples, and her face was still flushed.

"Arthur Pendragon," the Annoying Blonde Arse cut in. Merlin noted that he hadn't moved to pick up any books.

"And no need to ask who _you _are," Arthur Pendragon said with a sneer, turning to face the dark-haired man. "Gwaine, the black sheep of the Black family. My father's told me all about you."

He turned back to Merlin. "You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you out here."

He held out his hand to shake Merlin's, but Merlin didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," Merlin said coolly.

Arthur Pendragon didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared on his cheeks. He pursed his lips and stalked off.

"What a prat," Merlin muttered in the direction of his disappearing back.

Gwaine laughed. "My hero," he said affectionately, rumpling Merlin's hair. "Tell me, though. Did you even know who that was?"

"…Er, Arthur Pendragon?" Merlin asked, confused. "We talked for a while earlier. He helped save my luggage and I thought he was alright, but then he was a complete arse about my parents, and he kept prattling on about his _father_, and, well, I thought he was a bit of a jerk."

"He," Gwaine said slowly, "Arthur _Prat_dragon, is the son of the Minister for Magic."

"…_Oh_," Merlin said helplessly, dropping his hands to his sides. "Well…damn. But that doesn't change anything! He's still a prat."

Gwaine laughed loudly, slinging one arm companionably around Merlin's shoulder. "I can already tell we're going to get along. And you, Gwen," he said, beaming. "We can all sit together in this compartment, and you can tell me _all _about that interesting book."

A whistle sounded.

"Oh no, my trunk! And my cat!" Gwen said, panicky. There was a mad rush in which Merlin and Gwaine scrambled to help Gwen shift her luggage into the compartment without dropping any more textbooks, while Gwen attempted to corral her bandy-legged, bad-tempered ginger cat, Crookshanks, inducing multiple scratches to all involved and colourful swearing from Gwaine, and Merlin rushed off to buy last-minute snacks for the ride, only managing to squeeze his way back into the compartment with seconds to spare.

And then the train pulled out of the station and they were all on their way to Camelot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The journey was highly enjoyable. Gwaine, who came from a family of pureblooded wizards and had never discovered the joys of Muggle erotic novels, kept them all entertained by reading and attempting to _act out _the most luridly descriptive passages, with Merlin as a largely-unwilling participant-slash-prop. By the time the train pulled into the tiny, dark platform and everyone alighted, Merlin's sides hurt from laughing so hard.

He sobered up when he caught sight of Camelot University in the distance. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side of an enormous black lake, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. A hush fell over the assembled students.

Following the crowd, Merlin, Gwaine and Gwen got into one of a fleet of little boats sitting by the shore of the lake. When all the students had gotten into their boats, the fleet set sail at once, gliding across the fathoms-deep lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead, outlined by the stars.

The boats carried them into a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right under the castle, until it opened up into an underground grotto, where everyone clambered out onto the pebbly ground. They followed a passageway in the rock leading to the smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

A flight of stone steps led up to a huge, oaken front door, which swung open to reveal a stern-faced, elderly witch in sober black robes.

"Welcome to Camelot," she said crisply. "My name is Professor McGonagall. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. The requirements for each House will be made clear later by the Sorting Hat.

"While you are at Camelot, your achievements will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points." Gwaine coughed. "At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house in which you are placed.

"Now form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Terrified, Merlin got into line between Gwaine and Gwen, and they walked into the Great Hall of Camelot University of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Merlin had been impressed by Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, but the Great Hall was truly a sight to behold. The Hall was lit with the glow of hundreds upon hundreds of enchanted candles, which floated above the four long tables where the upper years were seated. House decorations hung above each table: Merlin spotted a roaring lion in red and gold, a leaping badger against black and yellow, a blue and bronze eagle with outstretched wings and a silver and emerald serpent, poised to strike.

Mainly to avoid the curious stares of the upper years, Merlin glanced up, and saw that there appeared to be no ceiling at all. The Great Hall appeared to open up to swirls of starry galaxies silhouetted against the night sky. He gasped.

Following his gaze, Gwen whispered to him, "The ceiling's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Camelot: A Compendium_."

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall had placed an old and dirty hat upon a four-legged stool in front of the first years. _That must be the Sorting Hat_, Merlin thought. Everyone in the Hall was staring avidly at it. Then the Hat _moved_ – a rip opened wide like a mouth, and the Hat burst into song:

_Oh you may not think me pretty,  
__But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Camelot Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be._

_To Gryffindor, the bravest are  
__Prized far beyond the rest;  
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest  
will always be the best;  
In Hufflepuff, hard workers are  
Most worthy of admission;  
And power-hungry Slytherin  
loves those of great ambition._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

"Right," Professor McGonagall said briskly, stepping forward. "Now that everyone is clear on the requirements, when I call your name, you will step forth to be Sorted." She unrolled a long list of names. "Adams, Robert!"

Robert Adams, looking terrified, stumbled to the stool and placed the Hat on his head. A moment's pause –

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat. The table with blue and bronze hangings applauded loudly as Robert Adams made his way to join the rest of his House.

"Anderson, Ava!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Worried, Merlin tuned out the Sorting. He didn't feel that he met _any _of the requirements for the Houses at all. He didn't think he was particularly hardworking, quick-witted or power-hungry. And he definitely wasn't feeling too brave at the moment. What if the Hat sat on his head for ages, before announcing to the whole Hall that there had clearly been a mistake and Merlin ought to get on the train back home?

Merlin's nervous thoughts were interrupted by a call of "Black, Gwaine!"

Gwaine strode confidently to the stool, grasped the Hat and bowed to the audience with a flourish. Some girls in the crowd giggled and cheered. The Hat had barely touched Gwaine's head when it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Merlin joined the crowd in applauding for Gwaine. With a reassuring smile back at Merlin and Gwen, Gwaine joined the Gryffindor table.

And then all too soon, it was "Emrys, Merlin!"

Merlin stepped forward and jammed the Hat on his head. He crossed his fingers.

"Hmmm," a tiny voice said into his mind. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. And a great deal of loyalty to your friends. Hufflepuff wouldn't be a bad fit. But then there's your talent, oh yes, and you do have a certain degree of _ruthlessness _inside…Now where should I put you?"

"I'm not ruthless," Merlin protested mentally.

"You could be, you know," the Hat whispered grimly. "Ruthless in defence of ones you'd die for. Any means, to achieve your goal. No matter what it costs you. There are things you would pay the ultimate price to keep. No matter what."

Merlin shivered.

"Well then!" the Hat said in an unexpectedly chipper voice. "Any preferences, young wizard?"

"How about Gryffindor?" Merlin suggested weakly.

'Not Slytherin, eh?" _No_, Merlin thought. _I want Gryffindor._ "Well, if you're sure, then, better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Merlin heard the Hat shout the last word to the Great Hall. Relieved, he took off the Hat and walked shakily to the Gryffindor table. He squeezed into a seat next to Gwaine, who was beaming at him.

The Gryffindor table was soon joined by "Godwyn, Elena!", "du Lac, Lancelot!" and "Li Ning!" as the Sorting proceeded. There was a slight hitch in the Sorting as Arthur Pendragon took an unusually long time to be sorted, but it seemed that the Hat finally gave in and sorted him in "SLYTHERIN!" Merlin exchanged a look of surprise with Gwaine – he'd have thought that Arthur Pratdragon would have been a shoo-in for Slytherin House.

Gwen was then sorted into Hufflepuff (to Merlin's slight disappointment – he had hoped the three of them could be in the same House), and the Sorting finally ended when "Young, Mordred!" was sorted into Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her list and took the Hat out of sight.

Then, a wizened old man with a flowing white beard rose from the teachers' table. Merlin suppressed a laugh – he was exactly like how Merlin had imagined his namesake to look like when he was younger. "That's the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore," an upper-year Gryffindor whispered to them.

"Welcome, welcome!" said Albus Dumbledore, beaming at the assembled students. "Welcome to a new year at Camelot University of Witchcraft and Wizardry! There is a time for lengthy speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

All the students clapped and cheered. Albus Dumbledore bowed. With a wave of his wand, the empty golden platters were suddenly piled to heaping with all sorts of food. There was roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, dumplings peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

Suddenly ravenous, Merlin attacked the food, ready to eat as much as he could.

* * *

When the feast was over, the first-year Gryffindors were led to the common room by their prefect, Mithian West. (_Don't forget, the password for the week is "Albion!"_) The boys were directed into one dormitory and the girls into another. Climbing up a long, spiralling staircase, Merlin eventually found himself in a dorm with four large four-poster beds, surrounded by deep red curtains. Merlin's roommates were Gwaine and Lancelot. The last bed remained empty. Their luggage had already been brought to their rooms. Lancelot unpacked with lightning speed, then hovered around Gwaine and Merlin, politely offering to help.

When everyone had finished unpacking, Merlin changed into his pyjamas and flopped back onto his bed, completely exhausted. Gwaine and Lancelot had apparently decided to sleep topless. Within seconds, Merlin could already hear Gwaine snoring.

Looking up at the velvety canopy of his four-poster bed, Merlin brooded for a while on the Sorting Hat's words, but he was soon so tired that he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Golden sunlight streamed in through the windows of the Gryffindor tower.

"Good morning!" Lancelot announced cheerfully. He had already changed into his uniform and was sitting on his bed, leafing through the first chapter of _Transfiguration for Beginners_.

Merlin and Gwaine let out identical groans. Pulling the blanket over his head, Merlin whimpered and rolled over onto his front.

"Go 'way," Gwaine mumbled to the room at large. "W'z dreaming. I dreamt I was eating a cheese that tasted like apple pie."

"You two are going to be late for academic counselling with McGonagall," Lancelot reprimanded.

"Don't have to go," Gwaine muttered into his pillow. "Already chose my electives."

"Which ones?" Lancelot asked with interest.

"Divination-MagicalSports-History," Gwaine recited in one breath, turning to burrow deeper into his blankets. "They're the easiest. History of Magic's taught by a fucking _ghost_. He sets the same paper every year. I've already got the answer key."

Merlin laughed. Lancelot shook his head, smiling ruefully.

"Oh, and Defence Against the Dark Arts," Gwaine added. "You get to duel. Duelling's cool."

"How about you?" Lancelot asked Merlin.

"No idea," Merlin admitted. "Hang on a minute, I'll go for counselling with you."

With a herculean effort, Merlin wrenched himself out of bed and stumbled through the motions of washing up and getting changed. Leaving Gwaine to his dreams of dubious-tasting cheese, Merlin and Lancelot descended from the Gryffindor tower to meet their Head of House.

* * *

Not ten minutes later, Merlin and Lancelot were hopelessly lost.

Camelot was a complete labyrinth. There were stairs that changed direction abruptly when being used; doors that wouldn't open unless you asked the portraits guarding them politely, or told them a funny joke, or recited romantic poetry (thankfully Lancelot was on hand – Merlin didn't know a single line of poetry); suits of armour that challenged passers-by to duels or _games of chess_ (of all things) if they were looked at the wrong way; and ghosts that flitted in and out through the walls, occasionally bumping into living people and giving them a nasty shock. After walking into two dead ends, Merlin found himself wishing for the safe, sane layout of his Muggle secondary school.

As a result, when they finally located McGonagall's office, Lancelot and Merlin were among the last of the first year Gryffindors to arrive. On the upside, there wasn't a very long queue left. Soon there was no one in line ahead of them.

"You go first," Lancelot told Merlin graciously, after Professor McGonagall's call of "Next!" travelled through the office door. Merlin made a few token protests, but Lancelot was not to be deterred. Taking a deep breath, Merlin knocked lightly on the door and entered.

Professor McGonagall looked up at Merlin through her square rimmed spectacles. Laid out on the desk in front of her were various multi-coloured pamphlets. "Take a seat, Mr…?"

"Merlin Emrys," Merlin replied. He sat.

There was a pause as Professor McGonagall flipped through her records until she located his name. Looking up at Merlin, she asked, "You are Muggleborn?"

"Um, I'm not really sure," Merlin said, fidgeting. "My mum's normal. My father could be magic for all I know, but he disappeared when I was really little and it upsets Mum to talk about him, so I've never asked. Er, but if it's important I could probably call her – "

"That's all right," Professor McGonagall said crisply. "I'm just trying to gauge your level of familiarity with the wizarding world. Ideally, your electives should adequately prepare you for your preferred job after you leave Camelot. If you're unfamiliar with magical careers, it would help to look through these pamphlets."

Merlin looked down at the numerous leaflets and pamphlets scattered across the desk. "_MUGGLE RELATIONS," _he read off a garishly coloured brochure. "_ARE YOU UP FOR_ _TRAVELLING THE WORLD IN SEARCH OF TREASURE? CONSIDER A CAREER AT GRINGOTTS BANK!" _proclaimed another. "_TASTE-TESTERS SOUGHT FOR BERTIE BOTT'S EVERY-FLAVOUR BEANS"…"WORK FOR THE WIZENGAMOT"…"THE CANNONS ARE RECRUITING! ENTER THE LEAGUE WITH A BANG!"…"PENDRAGON HOLDINGS: YOUR PATH TO POWER"… _

Merlin felt a little overwhelmed.

"Do you have any career choices in mind?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Well, I used to think about going into medicine," Merlin confessed. "If there's anything like that here…"

"Healing," Professor McGonagall said, nodding with approval. She extracted a small white brochure with a crossed bone-and-wand emblem on its cover and handed it to Merlin. Merlin glanced down at it. The heading read, "_BECOME A HEALER AT ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES"_.

"Your courseload will be very demanding," Professor McGonagall warned. "First, you have to achieve good grades in your four core modules: at least an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Potions, Herbology, Charms and Transfigurations in your final exams. You will also be required to score at least an 'E' in the two required first-year electives for Healing, Anatomy and Advanced Potions. After graduation, you will then have to complete 12 months of housemanship at St Mungo's or any other Ministry-approved hospital, and pass the Healer's Exam, before you may apply for full registration as an accredited Healer."

"I'll work hard," Merlin promised. "I'm ready."

Professor McGonagall gave him her first actual smile. She made a note on her register.

"You'll also have to choose two other electives that aren't essential to Healing," she continued. "Do you have any preferences?"

"Um," Merlin said. He tried to recall what Gwaine had mentioned earlier this morning. "Duelling?"

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you mean Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Merlin flushed. "Yeah, that one. Professor," he added in an attempt to sound more polite.

"It's a very popular elective," she noted, writing it down. "And your last module?"

"Um," Merlin said again. None of Gwaine's other electives sounded appealing. Merlin was terrible at normal sports and couldn't imagine that he'd be much better at magical ones. He had no idea what Divination was, and he didn't _really _want to take History of Magic with Gwaine. History sounded very dry, and if he was expelled for cheating after barely a year of school, his mother would cry buckets.

Professor McGonagall handed him the full list of electives. "Which of these do you like best?"

Merlin skimmed through the list. _Alchemy…Arithmancy...Astronomy…_all the way down to _Visual and Performing Arts_. Deciding to leave it up to destiny, he jabbed his finger randomly at the centre of the list. "This one. Er," he peered at his selection, "Law of the Wizarding Commonwealth?"

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him. "An unusual choice," she remarked. "Not many people from my House take this course. It tends to be more popular among the Slytherins."

"Oh," Merlin said. Still, he had already decided to leave it up to fate, and it would probably be bad luck to question destiny. Wouldn't it?

Professor McGonagall finished noting down his course selections. "That will be all, Mr Emrys," she said finally. "You may purchase your textbooks at the book shop on the first floor after this. The store owner has the list of required books. You may go. Send the last boy in."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Merlin said, and left.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin quickly found out that there was much more to proper magic than waving your wand and saying a few fancy words.

Before coming to Camelot, the wandless magic which Merlin did back in Ealdor was largely instinctual and responsive. While he could often move or change things with his mind if he wished, his magic was unreliable and often had unforeseen consequences. Once, when attempting to mend a shattered cup with magic, he had ended up multiplying each separate shard into an entire tea set. The tea sets had all been extremely pink and flowery.

However, at Camelot, Merlin learnt to use his magic with much more finesse. Channelling magic through his wand gave him much better control compared to the reflexive wandless magic he used to perform, and the spells he learnt produced much more precise results.

Mindful that he couldn't just muddle through his lessons if he wanted to become a Healer, Merlin resolved to put in his best effort into his studies. His Charms classes were taught by Professor Flitwick, a cheery, enthusiastic little man who was the Head of Ravenclaw House. Studying for Charms was no hardship – it was one of Merlin's favourite subjects.

Transfiguration was taught by Professor McGonagall, his Head of House. Strict and clever, Professor McGonagall was a clear and patient instructor, but the subject itself was devilishly tricky. For the first lesson, after taking a lot of complicated notes for over an hour, Professor McGonagall gave each of the students a match and instructed them to try and turn it into a needle. By the end of the class, Gwen Smith was the only person who had made any difference to her match: Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had turned silver and pointy and gave Gwen a rare smile.

Potions was held in the dungeons next to the Slytherin Common Room. The Potions Professor, Gaius, was an old wizard with flowing white hair and a terrifying eyebrow which he quirked at misbehaving students. Merlin was unfortunately subjected to it in his very first lesson, when Gwaine managed to set their cauldron on fire fifteen minutes into class.

At his first lesson for Law of the Wizarding Commonwealth, Merlin stepped into class and was met with a sea of green ties. From his seat at the front of the room, Arthur Pendragon sneered at him, then muttered something unmistakeably derogatory about him to his clique of hangers-on. They all laughed.

Scowling, Merlin stalked to an empty seat and sat down with as much dignity as he could muster.

The girl seated beside Merlin turned to face him. She was slender and almost dangerously beautiful, with curly black hair and brilliant green eyes. She was also sucking on a lollipop. Merlin watched distractedly as she swirled her tongue around it, almost deliberately provocative. He gulped.

"You seem to have gotten under my idiot brother's skin," the girl remarked, sounding highly entertained.

"Brother?" Merlin asked, confused.

"Half-brother, actually," she clarified, holding out a slim white hand for Merlin to shake. "I'm Morgana le Fay. Uther's bastard daughter," she concluded brightly.

"Um," Merlin said, unsure how to react. He tentatively reached for her hand, paused halfway to wipe it on his uniform, then realised that he was possibly being impolite. Morgana watched his hesitation, her lips twitching in a barely concealed smile.

"Now it's your turn to introduce yourself," Morgana instructed, her eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Merlin. Merlin Emrys," Merlin said, blushing.

"You're cute," Morgana laughed, pinching his cheek. "Strange, I thought you'd have been my idiot brother's type."

"What?!" Merlin spluttered.

"D'you want to shag him?" Morgana asked cheerfully.

"N-no!" Merlin stammered.

"_Really?_"

"No, I _really_ don't!" Merlin denied hotly. "He's an arrogant, spoiled, stuck-up prat and I wouldn't screw him no matter how hot he looked! And I'm not – I'm not interested in um, men!"

Morgana positively cackled. Merlin scowled, flushed.

"I was just messing with you," Morgana laughed. Her eyes twinkled. She offered her hand to him again. "Friends?"

Merlin looked at her dubiously, then sighed and shook her hand.

* * *

The elective that everyone had been really looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, taught by Professor Cenred, the Head of Slytherin House. In high spirits, Merlin, Lancelot, Gwaine and Gwen joined the pack of students trooping off to the classroom. DADA was extremely popular: most of the first years had signed up for the module. To Merlin's annoyance, Arthur Pendragon was one of them.

Merlin had resolved to ignore him with great dignity during class, but his plan was immediately foiled by Professor Cenred.

"Shall we have a volunteer pair up front?" Professor Cenred said, his eyes sweeping the classroom. Merlin slouched down as low as he dared and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

"How about you?" Professor Cenred asked. Merlin's head snapped up. To his dismay, Professor Cenred was pointing right at him.

"And…this gentleman here." Professor Cenred said. With a smooth motion, Arthur Pendragon stepped forward gracefully, smirking a shark's grin at Merlin.

"Oh _god_," Merlin whimpered quietly in panic to his friends. "I don't know any battle spells! I'm going to be killed!" So far all he had learnt in his classes was how to levitate objects, which he could do successfully roughly thirty percent of the time, and how to fail to turn objects into needles. He didn't see how the history of the common law system or the ability to brew a DeDoxifying Tonic would help him either.

"Punch him," Gwaine suggested. "Kick him in the balls."

"Try _Finite Incantatem_," Gwen advised worriedly. "It's a general counter-spell for most simple enchantments."

"Um, _Finite…"_

"Up front, please," Professor Cenred said. Gulping, Merlin took his wand and moved to the front of the class to face Arthur Pendragon.

"Scared, _Mer_lin?" Arthur Pendragon taunted quietly. "I could take you apart with one blow."

"I could take you apart with less than that," Merlin retorted, his palms sweating.

"We shall observe proper duelling form in this class," Professor Cenred was saying to the rest of the students circled around them. "First, the duellists bow."

Merlin and Arthur barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

"Turn around and take three steps out, on my count, then cast your first spell. One – "

So Gwaine's suggestion was out then. Merlin desperately tried to remember what Gwen had said.

"Two – "

Was it _Finite Incantation? Finite Incatum?_ It definitely began with _Finite_…

"Three!"

"_Finite_-!" Merlin began to yell, but Arthur was quicker. "_Dracarys!_" he roared.

The end of his wand blazed with brilliant light. Horrified, Merlin watched as an enormous scarlet dragon erupted from the end of his wand, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and uncoiled itself, smoke rising from its nostrils and flame beginning to spark in its maw. There were small shrieks as the crowd backed away, clearing the floor.

The dragon raised its head, looking Merlin directly in the eyes.

And Merlin wasn't sure what made everything happen next.

He opened his mouth, intending to squeak "Go away!", as if that would have _worked_, against a _real dragon_, a _real live dragon_. But instead, what came out was a long, low roar, full of rolling syllables, words of magic and power that he had never heard before and yet _knew_, with absolute certainty, as if they had been etched into his blood and bones.

And then miraculously, inexplicably, the dragon was backing away, lowering its head tamely and _bowing_ to Merlin, curling up into itself as docilely as a house pet.

Stunned, Merlin raised his head to see Arthur looking at him with wide blue eyes, an expression of frozen shock on his face that must have mirrored Merlin's own.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Professor Cenred said quietly. The dragon vanished in a puff of golden smoke. Professor Cenred, too, was looking at Merlin in an unexpected way: it was a shrewd and calculating look, and Merlin didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of ominous hissing whispers around the classroom.

Then a hand clamped on his shoulder, and Gwaine was saying into his ear, "_Move_ – come on – "

Gwaine steered him out of the classroom, Lancelot and Gwen hurrying alongside them. Merlin didn't have a clue what was going on, and none of them explained anything, until they had dragged him all the way to Gryffindor Tower.

Gwaine shoved Merlin into an armchair and towered over him. "You're a dragonlord! Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm a what?" Merlin asked.

"A _dragonlord_!" Gwen exclaimed. "You can talk to dragons!"

"I didn't _know_!" Merlin protested. "I grew up in Ealdor! It's not as if I've ever met any dragons before! Besides, it can't be anything unusual…I bet loads of people here can do it."

"No, they can't," Lancelot said worriedly. "Merlin, this is bad. This isn't a power that's looked upon favourably, Merlin, not at all."

"Dragons are extremely destructive," Gwen explained, twisting her hands worriedly. "They're like – like weapons of mass destruction, in the Muggle world. That little one Pendragon conjured is _nothing_ compared to a real dragon, do you understand? Living dragons are as tall as buildings, and almost indestructible! Dragonfire can't be shielded against and can do permanent damage. Having a dragon at your command, Merlin, can you imagine? Countries go to _war _over dragonlords,to be able to control a dragonlord's power!"

"Arthur Pendragon probably thought you were going to kill him with his own charm," Lancelot said.

"But I wasn't going to," Merlin protested weakly. "I only asked the dragon to go away! I'd never have…I'd never have asked it to _burn _someone! I wouldn't do that."

"It doesn't matter," Gwaine said grimly. "What matters is that everyone now knows that you _could_."


	5. Chapter 5

It was with absolutely no surprise that Merlin watched Professor McGonagall enter the Gryffindor Common Room.

"The Headmaster would like to speak to you, Mr Emrys," Professor McGonagall said.

"Right," Merlin said hollowly. He got up from his armchair by the fire and made to follow her.

"What's going to happen to Merlin?" Gwaine demanded.

"He is not in trouble, Mr Black," Professor McGonagall said. "Headmaster Dumbledore would simply like a chat."

"Really?" Gwaine asked suspiciously.

"_Yes_, Mr Black," Professor McGonagall said severely. "Now if you'll come along, Mr Emrys. The Headmaster is waiting."

* * *

Merlin followed silently behind Professor McGonagall for three corridors before he couldn't keep it in any longer and the question burst out of him. "What's _really _going to happen to me, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall's face softened as she looked towards Merlin. "Don't worry, Mr Emrys. The Headmaster would never let any harm come to a student under his charge."

"Harm?" Merlin said weakly.

"There is nothing to worry about," Professor McGonagall assured him again.

_Oh shit, _Merlin thought.

They stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle. "Kit Kat!" Professor McGonagall said with a grimace.

It was apparently some sort of password, because with much creaking and grinding, the gargoyle immediately sprung aside, making way to reveal a large, spiralling staircase leading upwards. Professor McGonagall stepped onto the lowest step and beckoned for Merlin to join her. To Merlin's astonishment, the staircase began to revolve of its own accord, bringing them upward in circles, higher and higher, until it stopped in front of an enormous oak door with a griffin-shaped brass knocker.

Professor McGonagall rapped smartly on the door twice, and they entered.

* * *

Dumbledore's office was, without a doubt, the most interesting room in Hogwarts. Little silver fiddly instruments were perched on every available surface, whirring and emitting curious little noises and puffs of multi-coloured steam. The walls were decorated with portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, who all stared at Merlin in undisguised fascination. A beautiful red bird, its feathers trailing fire, swooped in front of Merlin to hover in front of his face, peering curiously into his eyes. Remembering what had happened the last time he tried to talk to a magical beast, Merlin kept his mouth firmly shut, biting on his lip for good measure.

"Here, Fawkes," Professor Dumbledore said. The phoenix swooped over to land on a small golden perch at the edge of his desk. Seated at the other end of the desk was Professor Dumbledore.

"Fawkes is a phoenix," Professor Dumbledore continued. "Very powerful, very rare creatures. Their song has magical properties, and their tears are one of the most potent healing agents in the wizarding world. And of course, they make extremely loyalcompanions."

"Oh," Merlin said shyly. "He's beautiful."

Fawkes trilled softly, cocking his head at Merlin. Merlin smiled at him, and for the first time since leaving the DADA lesson, he could feel the knot of tension in his chest begin to unravel. He took a seat in an empty armchair facing Dumbledore.

"I suppose you know what we are here to talk about," Dumbledore said quietly. "It appears that your dragonlord powers have come to light."

Merlin suppressed a shiver.

"To have this revealed, and in such a public way, is nothing short of disastrous," Dumbledore said. "I had hoped to inform you of your powers when the time was right, but seeing as that is clearly futile now…I will not lie to you, Merlin. You are potentially in grave danger."

"You _knew_?" Merlin gasped. "You knew I had this – this power?"

"How much do you know of Balinor, Merlin?" Dumbledore asked gravely.

His father? Merlin hadn't thought of that, and he really, _really _should have. It made sense that this was an inherited ability. Remembering his friends' fear for him – Lancelot's worry, Gwen's anxiety, Gwaine's angry protectiveness…Something cold and painful clenched in his chest.

"Nothing much," Merlin admitted. "My mother always avoided the subject. Why? What happened to him?"

"Suffice to say that he did not choose to leave your family of his own free will," Dumbledore said. "When his powers became known in certain quarters, he was forced to leave to protect your family. You had just been born and it was uncertain if you had inherited them, as dragonlord powers are not always passed down to the next descendant. But he could not take the chance that these people would realise that there was now another in Britain who could potentially hold the key to immense political and military power. Although Balinor was more than capable of protecting himself, he could not bring a helpless infant and a Muggle woman together with him on the run. He had to flee alone."

"Who was it? Who was after him?"

Dumbledore regarded Merlin gravely over his half-moon spectacles, but did not say a word.

Merlin stood up.

"I have a right to know," Merlin said shakily. "You can't keep something like this from me."

"Merlin," Dumbledore said gently, but with a tone of finality in his voice. "When the time is right, you will know."

And Merlin knew that it was futile to protest any further.

He sat back down, mind reeling over this revelation. Merlin had always harboured a slight resentment towards his father for abandoning his family and hurting his mother. But it was now clear that Balinor wouldn't have done it unless he had no other choice. It was a lot to take in.

"Everyone knows now, though," Merlin pointed out finally. "Will they be after me, too?"

"Ah, which brings me to the cover-up," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I have a teeny little bit of political influence myself, and I'm sure I can deflect any unwelcome inquiries from Ministry meddlers. Since it's such a rare gift, no one in your Defence class has actually _seen_ dragonlord powers being used before. For all they know, you could have been speaking Welsh."

"But the dragon backed off when I spoke to it!" Merlin exclaimed.

"It was a conjuration, not a real dragon." Dumbledore pointed out. "There are many different ways to dispel or subjugate conjurations. You were in a duel, weren't you? You had your wand out. You could conceivably have been casting a counter-spell. A spell in Welsh!"

Merlin looked at him doubtfully.

"People often believe what they want to believe." Dumbledore said wisely. "And no one wants to believe that a first-year Muggleborn has the power to destroy magical Britain. In a few days, the school rumour mill will have moved on to more exciting topics of discussion. Certainly, there can be no way that little Merlin Emrys is a _dragonlord,_ if he's attending classes like any other student and hasn't been taken away or arrested."

"_Arrested_?" Merlin asked weakly.

"_Not _arrested," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Though I do strongly advise you never to use your power in such a visible way again. In fact, it would probably be best if you never used it at all."

"Oh, definitely," Merlin said quickly. "There's no way I'd want to talk to huge fire-breathing monsters. Most definitely not."


	6. Chapter 6

The problem was, once the idea had been put into his head, Merlin found it very difficult to convince himself otherwise.

Dragons were _cool_. Merlin supposed that if he had been brought up in the wizarding world, where dragons were apparently murderous weapons of mass destruction, he'd have thought otherwise; but unfortunately, a childhood in Muggle Britain had successfully managed to convince him that there was nothing cooler in the world than enormous fire-breathing reptiles.

Besides, it wasn't as if he couldn't tell the hypothetical dragon off if it was intent on a bit of murder and mayhem – he had managed to get Arthur Pendragon's conjuration to back down, after all. Perhaps he could even convince his summoned dragon to let him _ride_ it. But all this was hypothetical, of course, because Merlin wasn't stupid enough to call upon a great fiery beast when he was supposed to keep a low profile.

He really wasn't.

Definitely not.

It would be a completely idiotic thing to do.

"How many dragons are there in Britain, Gwen?" Merlin asked casually. It was the weekend, and they were having their weekly study group in the Gryffindor common room. Gwen and Lancelot had been diligently doing their homework for the last three hours. Gwaine was attempting to charm a moustache onto a squashy cushion.

Merlin closed the Contract Law textbook which he had been poring over for the last half hour and tried not to seem too interested in her answer.

"No one's really sure," Gwen said absently, looking over her Transfigurations essay. "The Common Welsh Green is native to this region, but most were wiped out in one of the great wizarding wars, and there were never very many of them to begin with. There probably aren't any left in Britain – no one's seen one of them for ages. Eastern Europe has the largest nesting colonies of purebred dragons, though. Their dominant species are the Hungarian Horntail, Ukrainian Ironbelly and Romanian Longhorn."

"Oh," Merlin said, disappointed. He wasn't sure if dragonlords could call dragons from as far away as Hungary. "Er, and are they really as big as buildings?" Merlin added, with what he hoped was an expression of complete nonchalance.

"Well, it depends on the breed, but most mature ones grow to about ten to twenty metres long. The Welsh Green used to be one of the smaller breeds," Gwen said.

Merlin pondered. Ten to twenty metres wasn't thatlarge. In fact, it was much smaller than a commercial aeroplane. He could probably phrase his request carefully and tell his dragon to stay well hidden by cloud cover before it landed. Hypothetically, of course.

"Why do you want to know all this, Merlin?" Gwaine asked suddenly, looking up at Merlin with shrewd eyes.

"Oh, no reason!" Merlin said quickly, beaming as brightly and innocently as he could. "No reason at all!"

* * *

Merlin had made up his mind to do it.

It wouldn't be _dangerous._ He'd go out to the Forbidden Forest tonight and try to summon a dragon. No one would see him. It'd be too dark, and no one went out to the Forbidden Forest anyway, because it was forbidden. (Merlin tried hard not to think about _why _it was forbidden. There were probably really horrible monsters in there, but – he tried not to think about it.)

And it wasn't as if anyone suspected him of being a dragonlord, anyway. To his astonishment, Dumbledore's plan had worked. The fuss had died down within a few days, and now, no one in school looked twice at Merlin.

Merlin briefly considered waking his friends up to go with him, but decided against it. Gwen's dorm was on the other side of the castle. Lancelot would fret and worry, making Merlin feel guilty. Gwaine would be all for it, but Merlin didn't know how far a dragonlord's control went, and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to contact a dragon in the first place. Even if he could summon one, Merlin couldn't be certain that the dragon wouldn't just resist his power and eat Gwaine and him. He couldn't risk his friend's life like that. Although if everything worked out, he could bring Gwaine with him next time.

What was he thinking? Of course everything was going to work out.

Slipping out of bed, Merlin quietly changed into his robes and pulled on a pair of shoes. He paused by his desk and briefly considered leaving a note in case something did go wrong. What did one write in a hopefully-not-suicide note, anyway?

In the end, he just scribbled _I love you, Mum_,on a piece of paper. Blushing, he folded it into a tiny square and hid it under a stack of books. He devoutly hoped that no one would ever have cause to find it.

Merlin grabbed his wand off his nightstand and left as quietly as he could.

* * *

It was a cold moonless night. The trees in the Forbidden Forest were black and silent. Not an animal stirred amongst the leaves.

Merlin took out his wand. "_Point me_," he whispered, placing it flat in the centre of his palm.

The wand spun at once and pointed to the right, indicating north. Deciding to go as far away from the castle as possible before he tried to summon a dragon, Merlin took a deep breath and walked into the darkened forest.

For the first few minutes, Merlin's heart was in his throat as he waited to be pounced upon by man-eating denizens of the Forest. Gradually, he relaxed when nothing untoward happened to him. However, the trees grew thicker and more closely together the deeper he went into the forest, and Merlin began to despair of finding a large enough clearing to fit a boy and a twenty-metre long dragon. Sighing, he pushed past a thick knot of brambles, thinking that it was perhaps time for him to call it off, when the trees in front of him suddenly opened up, revealing a large clearing with a few grey boulders.

Merlin settled himself on one of the larger boulders. Recalling Arthur Pendragon's scarlet dragon in his mind's eye, he took a deep breath.

"_O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes! Erkheo!_"

Merlin waited.

And waited.

Absolutely nothing happened.

Feeling exceedingly foolish, he slid off his boulder. He was very glad that he had decided not to bring Gwaine along.

Perhaps Gwen was right and all the dragons in Britain were now extinct. Perhaps he wasn't powerful enough to summon a dragon all the way from eastern Europe. Or perhaps some dragonlords were simply more powerful than others, and he happened to be an unusually weak one whose powers only worked on small illusions of dragons. Maybe he had no actualpower over real dragons at all, whether it was to summon or to control them.

On second thought, it was probably for the best that he was such a flop dragonlord. At least, unlike his father, he wouldn't be at the mercy of mysterious baby-stealing enemies.

Merlin didn't notice a shadow darkening the skies, blotting out the feeble light of the stars.

Then an enormous golden dragon swooped down from the clouds and landed right in front of him, claws digging into the ground. It puffed out a breath of searing hot air into Merlin's face and pinned him with a keen, piercing glare from its large yellow eyes.

This, Merlin _did _notice.

Mouth hanging open in shock, Merlin stumbled back, sitting down hard on his rock.

"Greetings, young warlock," the dragon rumbled.

"You're – you're not green!" Merlin gasped. Then, "Er, are you Hungarian?"

The dragon turned its scaly head, fixing Merlin with one of its yellow eyes. Its black pupil was as large as Merlin's palm. "No," it said slowly, dragging out the syllable as if Merlin was an extremely slow and stupid child. "I am not."

Merlin blushed.

"I am Kilgharrah," the dragon said. His breath was hot on Merlin's face.

"Hello, Kilgharrah," Merlin said shyly. "I'm Merlin."

"Hmmm," Kilgharrah said, a low considering rumble. "How small you are, for such a great destiny."

"Destiny?"

"I am speaking of Arthur Pendragon."

"_Arthur Pendragon?_" Merlin said in disbelief.

"He will become the greatest leader this land has ever known. But he will face many enemies along his way, and only you can save him."

"_What? _No. No, that can't be right. There has got to be another Arthur Pendragon, because this one is an idiot. Anyway, he wouldn't want my help! He hates me!"

"A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole," the dragon intoned. "You and he are like two sides of the same coin. He is your destiny, young warlock. That yours and Arthur's paths lie together is but the truth."

A truly horrible thought suddenly struck Merlin. Surely the dragon couldn't mean...? Oh god. No. There really wasn't any other way to explain away '_destined other half'_.

"I'm not…I don't want to _marry _Arthur!" Merlin shouted at him in indignation, feeling his ears burn red. The very thought itself was too awful to contemplate.

Kilgharrah regarded him with an indecipherable look. Blasted dragons. Blasted dragons and their unreadable facial expressions.

"None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin," Kilgharrah said ominously. "And none of us can escape it."

"Go away," Merlin told him sulkily. "I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"But whether that destiny includes marriage," Kilgharrah continued, ignoring him – and that was definitely a smirk from the dragon now – "is up to you."

"It most definitely _does_ _not,_" Merlin said firmly, still flushed with embarrassment. "I don't want anything to do with him. You're just wrong. Or – or you're lying. And I don't care if Arthur has enemies. In fact, I'm one of them! If anyone wants to kill him, they're welcome to it! I'd even give them a hand!"

Kilgharrah fixed Merlin with his stern yellow gaze. Merlin deflated.

"Alright, I wouldn't kill him," Merlin admitted. "I can't kill anyone. I'll – I'll save him, and then I'll gloat about it and rub it in his face."

"Ah, that reminds me," Kilgharrah said. "There is something extremely powerful and extremely dangerous hidden in Camelot."

"Really_?_" Merlin asked, interested. "What is it? Where is it? What does it do?"

"Dark forces are at work, Merlin," Kilgharrah said enigmatically. "And only you can stop it."

"You didn't answer my question!" Merlin exclaimed.

Laughing, the dragon turned away and crouched, preparing for flight.

"Wait! Stop! Tell me more!"

But with a few beats of its great wings, Kilgharrah had already taken to the skies.


End file.
